Burkhard Bilger’s “The Egg Men”

From The New Yorker's archive: a piece on the short-order cooks at the Flamingo hotel, who crack well over a million eggs a year, in a city built by breakfast specials.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences     In the Kitchen The Egg Men How breakfast gets served at the Flamingo hotel in Las Vegas. By Burkhard Bilger The food writer Ted Lee once praised the journalist Burkhard Bilger for writing narratives that "thrum with energy and affection." Since 2000, Bilger has contributed fifty pieces to The New Yorker. He has reported on a wide range of topics, including a neuroscientist's theories about the mysteries of time, the venturesome world of extreme cavers, the inventive musical stylings of Questlove, and a unique kind of therapy that is helping Germans come to terms with their history. His book, "Noodling for Flatheads: Moonshine, Monster Catfish, and Other Southern Comforts," chronicles the folk traditions and unique characters of the rural South. One of my favorite pieces by Bilger is "The Egg Men," a sprawling essay about some of the world's best short-order egg cooks, who work in Las Vegas. Bilger's piece, published in 2005, offers a revealing look at the frenetic intensity of the city's professional kitchens. Many of the cooks he writes about have travelled to Vegas from other parts of the world and are driven by a passion for the energetic chaos of the canteens where they create their concoctions. Each cook has his or her own unique approach. "When Joel cracked eggs, his fingers were as loose and precise as a jazz guitarist's. He held one egg between his thumb and his first two fingers, another curled against his palm," Bilger observes. "He rapped the first egg on the rim of the pan, twisted it into hemispheres, and opened it as cleanly as if it were a Fabergé Easter egg. As the spent shell fell into the trash, he shuttled the second egg into position, as if pumping a rifle." Bilger writes with a lyrical staccato about the less heralded terra firma of the culinary industry, highlighting the quiet prowess of his subjects as they execute the complex choreography of making breakfast for thousands of people each day. The cooks, he notes, are like jugglers in their masterly precision and reliance on muscle memory. Many are good enough to work in the finest of restaurants, yet they remain addicted to the life style of short-order cooking. With clarity and rigor, Bilger captures the thrill and vitality of a profession that most people overlook—and he breathes new life into the singular, exceptional figures who populate this intriguing world. —Erin Overbey, archive editor More from the Archive     A Reporter at Large The Ride of Their Lives From 2014: Bull riding is the most dangerous organized sport in the world, but some kids can't wait to compete. By Burkhard Bilger     Annals of Gastronomy Don't Eat Before Reading This From 1999: A New York chef spills some trade secrets. By Anthony Bourdain This e-mail was sent to you by The New Yorker. To insure delivery, we recommend adding newyorker@newsletters.newyorker.com to your contacts, while noting that it is a no-reply address. Please send all newsletter feedback to tnyinbox@newyorker.com.    For more from The New Yorker, sign up for our newsletters, shop the store, and sign in to newyorker.com, where subscribers always have unlimited access. Contact us with questions.   View our Privacy Policy. Unsubscribe.   Copyright © Condé Nast 2020. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.